"What a glorious thing it is to be a 'great artist!' Yes," she added, as he made a gesture of dissent, "Monsieur Jacques' prophecy is proving true; I can see it unfolding more and more. It is a rare and noble gift to conceive exquisite mental pictures like these, and then be able to portray them for others to enjoy. Who can estimate their refining influence upon the world, especially when one can feel the uplifting thought and inspiring lessons underlying their surface beauty? If you are putting as faithful work into your life problem, John, as you are expending upon your art, you surely are making rapid strides toward that 'goal' of which we talked three years ago."
"I believe I am honestly trying to do so, Helen," was his quietly earnest reply; "but"—his lips whitening suddenly—"the way, at times, has seemed toilsome and—lonely."
His voice almost broke on the last word.
Helen's clear eyes drooped; her face clouded for an instant, and, with an inward shock of misery, John knew that his words had recalled the lonely way she had once trodden, bearing both her own burdens and his. He could have scourged himself for his thoughtlessness. He had charged himself that morning not to recall by look or word one sorrowful thought to mar her visit to him. But the next moment she looked up, serene and smiling.
"That is an experience we all have at times, I fancy," she said. "It is a suggestion of that little demon—self-pity—that is liable to make a great deal of mischief for us if we do not speedily conquer him."
"I have found that out for myself," he observed, with an answering smile; "he is at hand to trip at every step, if one is not alert."
"And we know, John, there can be no company warfare, the battle is individual, one must toil and fight alone for self-conquest. It does seem wearisome at times, but it is grand, too, for every individual victory won is just so much more achieved toward the redemption of all, because it lessens the evil in the world in exact proportion to our achievements, and also becomes an incentive to others to buckle on their armor and do likewise."
"That is a beautiful, helpful thought. I shall not forget it," he gravely returned.
"And I shall not forget my visit here," Helen went on brightly, "nor this lovely view out over the Seine; these beautiful rooms, so artistically arranged—they make an ideal studio—and particularly your work. It has made me very glad to know what you are doing and how you are doing it."
"Thank you for telling me that," was all that John could trust himself to say.